


The One Where Vaan Has To Put On A Shirt

by Moonsheen



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Gen, Post-Canon, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-08 16:47:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1135069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonsheen/pseuds/Moonsheen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a part of their latest mission on behalf of the Archadian Emperor, Sky Pirates Vaan and Penelo attend a royal ball...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One Where Vaan Has To Put On A Shirt

**Author's Note:**

> written in 2007

It was going to be an easy job. If by ‘easy’ you meant ‘in Archadia’ and by ‘in Archadia’ you meant ‘Larsa needed a hand’ and by ‘Larsa needing a hand’ you meant ‘going to an Archadian fete’ and by ‘going to a fete you meant ‘having to wear something that actually had sleeves.’ That last part Vaan was taking some issue with. He kept picking and plucking and looking generally miserable and confused.  
  
“You look good though,” said Penelo, by way of comfort, as they stepped out of the cab together, arm and arm. She was faring a little better. The gown she wore was long and covered a little more than she was used to, but wasn’t _too_ tight around the thighs. A slit up the side kept her legs relatively free, and that was a good thing. She didn’t know if she’d need to kick someone tonight. Vaan wasn’t having any of it though.  
  
“How am I supposed to get _out_ of this thing,” he grumbled. She felt his arm shift as he tried to roll his shoulders again. “You know what, Penelo? I think we should just steal everyone’s clothes. They’re wearing enough. The silk trade could use the boost.”  
  
She gripped his arm harder. “And where do you think they got all this in the first place?  
  
“Okay. Then some foreign black market could use the boost.”  
  
“And we’d be stuck at a fete with a bunch of naked Archadians. Do you want to see a bunch of naked Archadians, Vaan?”  
  
Vaan thought about it. “No,” he admitted. “They never get _any_ sun.” Penelo shook her head and steered him around the corner.  
  
“Then try not to come up with any grand plots about how to steal their pants,” she said, and that was all she got to say before the task of trying not to gape at their first clear view of the Imperial Palace at night took up all of their time. Somehow, they managed to keep walking.  
  
“You know,” said Vaan, when the words returned, and they always did with Vaan, including that dangerous glint in the dark of his eyes that usually meant bad, bad things. He grinned. “Ashe’s is bigger.”  
  
Penelo agreed with him. If by ‘agreed’ you meant ‘snuck a leg out from the fashionable folds of her Archadian evening wear to kick him in the _knee._ ’  
  
  
  
“You there!” shouted a guard. He wasn’t being completely unreasonable in stopping them. He must’ve taken a good look at their finer Dalmascan features or the feathers in Penelo’s hair. “State your business at the palace!”  
  
Penelo smiled tightly, and tipped her head at him, hoping he wouldn’t look too hard at the way Vaan was trying to straighten his cuffs in a manner he seemed to think would make him look more like one of the natives. “We’re here for the fete.” The harsh laugh that rumbled from the man’s armor wasn’t too much of a surprise, but it still made her jerk back. This one didn’t really waste any time.  
  
“And I’m supposed to be believing that?”  
  
“We have invitations,” she said, reasonably. “His, uh, Excellency--”  
  
“’ _Invited_ us’, you say? You and every bone picker in city, I’m sure! Fame seekers is what you are. Information hounds. Thieves, most like.”  
  
“Yeah?” asked Vaan, rallying on his toes in an instant. “And you’re a _jackass_.” This stunned the man into some silence; clearly unused to taking lip from young foreign men who didn’t act like they knew how to wear clothes. Penelo raised her hands and stepped aside. Well. She’d _tried_ to be diplomatic. Vaan took his cue and strutted forward, producing a white, only partly sand spattered envelope from his belt. “I don’t know how you keep your job, with an attitude like that. That’s no way to be treating guests.”  
  
He thrust the paper into the man’s face. “Here’s our invitations. Signed and sealed by the _Emperor himself_. Who I don’t think would be too happy to know about the _shabby_ treatment of me and my _lady friend_ over there.”  
  
“I—“ sputtered the guard, eyes training on the paper and then to Vaan’s firmly knit brow. “Sir! I was just taking the necessary precautions--”  
  
“Especially the part about us being thieves,” added Vaan.  
  
The guard stepped back in a hurry and gestured them through.  
  
“Hah,” said the young sky pirate, for a moment not even taking notice of the (expensive looking) detailing on the columns in the entrance hall to bask in the light of his accomplishment. “I got him to call me ‘sir’.”  
  
His partner, not as mindful of her hair as many of their fellow guests were sure to be, leaned her head against his shoulder. She kept it there, feeling the bounce in his step against her cheek and winding her arms tighter around his. “ ‘Especially the part about us being thieves.’ I’m almost impressed,” she murmured. There was something wrong about that whole exchange. It hit her after a moment. She turned her head to look up at him. “Wait. Did you just get us in on the authority of our last repair bill?”  
  
“Did I?” Vaan checked the paper. “Oh, huh. I did.”  
  
“Oh my god,” said Penelo.  
  
  
  
“That woman’s wearing a hive on her head.”  
  
“Vaan, shush.”  
  
“And _that_ one’s got an armory around her neck.”  
  
She applied pressure to his fingers. “The candelabras are Larsa’s. We can’t take those.”  
  
“I know,” said Vaan, blinking a little too widely. He angled his chin up, as though intending to sniff out the emperor in question. There was a sea of people, and not a ridiculously smooth-haired head among the lot of them. There were a few of those vertical women’s styles, though. Archadians liked vertical. “So, where is he? He said he’d meet us, right?”  
  
“He’s the emperor, Vaan. He doesn’t just show up.”  
  
“It’s his fete, isn’t it?”  
  
“Yes. But he has to make an entrance.”  
  
Vaan scowled, but covered it quickly by nicking a pocket watch off of a large gentleman who happened to shoulder past him a little too roughly. “Oh, great. One of those. We could be waiting for hours. So, what’s the plan?”  
  
“The plan is.” Penelo pushed his hand down. He was inspecting his prize out a little too obviously. “That we _mingle_.”  
  
“Mingle?” Vaan clicked the watch open. The crystal encrusted insides winked obscenely. “…I can do that,” he said, eyes glittering in turn.  
  
  
Archadian dances were so stiff. Penelo had known this for awhile, but watching them in their natural habitat just convinced her of it all the more. No one ever bent more than they absolutely had to. Everyone had that same look of deep concentration on their faces. They were trying not to trip. The footwork was complicated, she’d give them that. So was trying not to bump into any of the other sticks trying to weave their way around. Still, they were too stiff. Penelo couldn’t bring herself to join it. Instead she wandered around the edges of the dance floor and watched. She figured she didn’t have to worry too much about anyone _asking_ her out there. She was, after all, a--  
  
A woman in the process of steering herself off the floor nearly walked into her. Penelo just managed to swivel out of the way. “Oh, goodness. I am _sorry_ ,” the woman breathed, producing a fan out of some empty pocket in space. She beat it like he intended to achieve flight. “Oh--” she happened a glance at Penelo, and her eyes grew very wide. The fan ceased. “Oh, are you a _Dalmascan_?”  
  
“Yes,” said Penelo, surprised, and the accent was enough to send the woman into a smug tittering. Her swaying earrings were fashioned like tiny hour glasses, the cut stone holding little magic left in them: from within they glowed in a soft blue.  
  
“I _thought_ so! You do have that look about you. But that dress does look all right, I suppose,” Penelo opened her mouth in reply, but the woman continued, “Oh, those feathers are darling though! Did you raise the bird yourself?”  
  
“No.” They’d belonged to her mother, actually. They’d been bought off of a traveling jeweler by her grandfather, actually. None of these things seemed worth saying, though. “Thanks, though. Bye.”  
  
The lady blinked as the girl slipped behind a flirting couple and away with little more than that. So sudden! Oh, well. The young emperor did have his curiosities. If he wished to invite _Dalmascans_ —well, it at least made things _interesting_. These were the things that occupied her thoughts as she touched her fan to her lips and went on her way which, in proper Archadian fashion, was towards where they kept the wine. She was ambushed by a young man with dusky skin and hair the color of white gold. He smiled at her charmingly. He said very interesting things. He took her hand. Curiosities indeed, she thought. Curiosities…  
  
  
  
Someone tapped Penelo on the shoulder. It was too light to be Vaan, and wasn’t followed by any attempts at _tackling_ her—she turned to find a young Archadian gentleman, regarding her with his cocked to one side, eyebrows raised.  
  
He was taller than her, slim and well-dressed. He wore black and the deep blues of the Empire, offset by gold lining at the collar and the lapels, and the perfect white of his gloves. It gave him a sharp look, one that was deeply at odds with the softness in his face. “Excuse me,” he said, crossing his hand over his chest. He bowed. Dark hair spilled over his shoulders. He hadn’t tied it back, like many of the other men in the great hall. “May I?” He offered his arm so gallantly that Penelo, in spite of her sudden desire to _laugh_ , just had to take it.  
  
“Thank you,” she said, and then when they’d returned to the dance floor and were facing each other she said: “I thought you were supposed to make an entrance.”  
  
Larsa Solidor smiled in a manner that could rival the winged creatures painted on the ceilings of his palace halls. “I have,” he said. “I’m here now, aren’t I?”  
  
“I… see that.” She forgot entirely about how stiff Archadian dancing was, when he took her hand. His fingers were warm under his gloves. She remembered enough of what he’d shown her not to be _embarrassing_ at it. Although, admittedly, the last time they’d really done this he’d been twelve and looking up at her. Instead of stone floors there had been long grasses. Instead of a host of lords and ladies there’d been a very tired group of pirates, prisoners, and princesses who’d thought they’d both gone insane.  
  
He didn’t try anything too complicated, and everyone seemed to be willing to get out of the way of the _Emperor of Archadia._ She figured it out quickly, though. It a was slower beat, less fluid than she was used to, and she forced herself not to move with too much hip. She didn’t want to make him blush. “I was just, you know, expecting fanfare. And courtiers. And Basch.” She glanced over his shoulder as though the man were hiding behind him. Larsa laughed.  
  
“Judge Magister Gabranth is a little late this evening.”  
  
“Will Judge Magister Gabranth be making an appearance?”  
  
“He is ever at my side.”  
  
“Okay. I’ll take that as a yes. Good. I missed him.” She let him lead her in a graceful circle, and had his arms gotten more solid since the last time they’d met? She whispered: “Missed you, too.” It was worth it to see the way his eyes lit up at her, terribly pleased. A little too pleased, maybe. Her heart suddenly hurt for him. “But I’d hate to think he’s missing out on a special occasion. Vaan put on a shirt for this.”  
  
“Did he?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Larsa regarded her solemnly. “Such sacrifice must not go unacknowledged.”  
  
“If by ‘sacrifice’ you mean a lot of whining. A _lot_.” She smiled up at him. “But we knew this was important to you, Larsa. So. Here we are.”  
  
“Thank you,” he said, and as he took her for another turn he bent his head close so that he might say into her ear: “I must admit. I have need of you…”  
  
It probably looked like he was kissing her cheek. It nearly felt like it. Penelo inhaled softly. “Do you?” She stood a little further on her toes, so that he’d have less of a distance to clear. “Tell me.”  
  
“I will,” he breathed, and did.  
  
  
  
“…and that’s our mission, should we choose to accept it,” concluded Penelo, out on the balcony. She’d needed to escape from all of her suitors, the number of men wanting to dance with her had suddenly _tripled_. “I already said ‘yes’ though, so if you’ve got any other ideas you’re out of luck.”  
  
Vaan was sitting on the rail, one leg and a wrist dangling over. He balanced easily. He’d pulled up one of the sleeves to the elbow. “Answer’s always yes for a friend, isn’t it? Besides, it was pretty nice of him to invite us to one of these things. We’ll meet up with him after the festivities have died down, right?”  
  
“Him and Basch. That’s the idea.” She lay her elbows down next to him. The city was spread out all around them. High and brighter than anything, the harsh lines of airships streaking by. “He seemed really glad to see us.”  
  
“I’m not surprised. Must be hard to find people you can talk to like a friend when you’re the emperor.”  
  
“I guess so…” Penelo sighed. “We should stop through more often. Not like you haven’t been short on any pockets to pick tonight.”  
  
Vaan huffed, and sprung up from his perch, whirling in place so that he was facing her. Resting on the balls of his heels, he balanced as though he weren’t turning his back to a sheer drop. “Not like you’ve been short on royalty to romance, either! …actually that reminds me.” He dug through the front of his shirt, having discovered its true purpose at last. “Here.”  
  
It was an earring shaped like an hourglass. Penelo groaned. “You didn’t.” But he had, and he leaned in so his nose nudged her hair as he took one of her hands and pressed it into her palm.  
  
“For you,” he said. It was warm. Probably from lying against his stomach for so long. “So you don’t leave me for an Archadian Emperor.”  
  
“I’m not going to leave you for an Archadian Emperor.”  
  
“You sure about that?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Really really sure?”  
  
She bumped her shoulder into his. “Now I’m reconsidering!” The injured throat-sound that earned was pretty pitiful. She held the earring up. “But I don’t think so. I mean, sure you’re giving me _stolen earrings_ that you probably _whored yourself out for_ , but. We’re partners aren’t we?”  
  
He slid off of the railing and back onto the ground. “Yeah.” She looped her arm through his elbow. She found his hand, laced their fingers together, and ran her thumb over the back of his hand. “We are.”  
  
“And Count Adelbart’s Pumpkin Seal isn’t going to steal itself, is it?”  
  
Vaan began to grin. “No, it’s not. Especially since _I_ got the key to the guy’s office.”  
  
“You got the key? Wait, how did you get the key? I only just told you--”  
  
One dramatic hair toss, and the other item in question appeared deftly between his fingers. “And a ‘leetle bird’ told _me_. If by little bird you mean big guys who are sometimes--”  
  
“Stop. Stop there.”  
  
His voice hit _that note_. “Captain Basch fon Ronsenberg of--”  
  
She cast silence on him.  
  
“Dalmasca,” she finished, fondly, tugging at his the collar. “Okay. I'm ready. Let’s go.”


End file.
